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THE STORY 
WITHOUT AN END 







The Story Without 
An End 

From the German of F. W. Carove 


BY 

SARAH AUSTIN 


With Illustrations and an Introduction 

By 

Curtis Wager-Smith 


PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY 


Copyright, 1904, by Henry Altemus 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies RoceiveU 


NOV 9 JyU4 

Copyrujm tnu-y 

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CLASS A Noi 

COPY B. 




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The Illustrations in this book are from original drawings and are fully- 
protected by copyright. 










DEDICATION 


To my Daughter. 

My dear Child:— The story you Jove so much 
in German I dedicate to you in English. It was 
in compliance with your earnest wish that other 
children might share the delight it has so often 
afforded you that I translated it ; so that it is, in 
some sort, yours of right. Let us hope that your 
confident expectations of sympathy in your 
pleasure may not be disappointed; or that, if 
others think the story less beautiful than you do, 
they may find compensation in the graceful de- 
signs it has inspired. 

You have often regretted that it left otf so 
soon, and would, I believe, “have been glad to 
hear more and more, 'and for ever.” The con- 
tinuation you have longed for lies in a wide and 
magnificent book, which contains more wonder- 
V 


VI 


DEDICATION 


fill and glorious things than all our favorite 
fairy-tales put together. But to read in that 
book, so as to discover all its beautiful meanings, 
you must liave pure, clear eyes, and an humble, 
loving heart; otherwise you will complain, as 
some do, that it is dim and puzzling ; or as others, 
that it is dull and monotonous. 

May you continue to read in it with new curi- 
osity, new delight, and new profit ; and to find it, 
as long as you live, the untiring “Story without 
an End.” 

Your affectionate Mother, 

S. A. 


INTRODUCTION 



‘HIS story, little dear, was written for you 


i by the mother of a small girlie in Eng- 
land long ago. And even that mummy did not 
make it up out of her own head. Before that, in 
a country across the ocean, a man wrote it for 
his children and all the little boys and girls who 
lived in Germany. You know about Germany: 
where they talk to each other in such a strange 
language that you cannot understand what they 
are saying, unless perhaps you have had a Ger- 
man nurse who has told you all about it. The 
English mummy and her little daughter knew 
however, and they both loved the story so much 
that they wished that all the children in the 
world could read it and love it too. So then 
the mummy wrote it down, in the language that 
you and I speak every day and a great artist 
made some queer little old pictures for it. Per- 
haps your Great-Great-grandmother read the 
story to her babies as your mother is reading 
this to you. Think of it ! There are some new 
pictures which you will like better than the old 


vii 


viii 


IJQTRODUCTION 


ones, and a pretty new cover, but it is the same 
dear old tale that the little German children 
listened to, years and years and years ago. 

You must love all the beautiful things out of 
doors, or you will not love this book. If you 
have never wished that you might run to the 
hill where the rainbow rests, or fly up in the air 
to see what is behind the clouds, or wondered 
what the beautiful white room looks like to the 
bee who has crawled far in, among the golden 
stamens in the cup of a fragrant lily, you had 
far better run along and play. For you would 
only get yawny and sleepy. But if you sit 
quite still and listen, and pretend you are the 
little child in the story whose best friend was 
the dragon-fly; the lark and the flowers and 
the drop of water and the fireflies and will-o’- 
the-wisps, and even the hateful lizard and the 
mouse, will whisper to you all the wonderful 
things that they told to him, and then you will 
be very, very happy. 


C. W-S. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I 

PAGE 

The Child Awakes ... .... 15 

CHAPTER II 

The Child Wanders to the Gurgling Brook 23 

CHAPTER III 

The Child Sleeps in the Moonlight ... 31 

CHAPTER IV 

The Child Walks in the Flower Garden . 37 

CHAPTER V 

The Child Goes into the Green Wood . . 45 

CHAPTER VI 

The Child Meets the Sullen Mouse and the 

Spiteful Lizard 51 


X 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER VII 


The Child Goes Farther into the Deep 

AVood 59 

CHAPTER VIII 

The Child is Greeted by the Ringing of 

the Blue Bells 67 


CHAPTER IX 

The Child Gossips with the Fireflies . . 75 

CHAPTER X 

The Child is Wakeful AVhile all the Forest 

Sleeps 79 

CHAPTER XI 

The Child Listens to the AVill-o’-the-Wisp 87 
CHAPTER XII 

The Child AVatches the Sunrise .... 93 

CHAPTER XIII 

The Chfld Listens to the Lark’s Song . . 99 

CHAPTER XIV 

The Child is Happy Again 


. . 109 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


The Child Frontispiece 

The sunshine on leaf and flower cheered him. 

PAGE 

Tlie Dragon-fly Sipped the Clear Dewdrops 17 
The Child spreads his breakfast on a leaf and 
invites the Bee, the Butterfly, and the Blue 
Dragon-fly to the feast. Their sweet prattle 
delights him. 

“ A Lopg Time Ago,” said the Drop of 

Water . 25 

The brook hurries to the river ; its waves will 
not stay to talk to the Child. A drop of water 
leaps to him and relates strange histories. 

The Moon Loved to Look at the Child . 33 

In his dream, the Child wanders on the ocean, 
among the stars, and over dark mountains. 

He fancies he sits in a golden boat, and tries 
to catch the stars which are reflected in the 
great mirror. 

The Rose Greeted the Child Lovingly . ‘ . 39 

The Child kisses the fragrant mouth of the rose — 
the Fullness of Beauty — as she bends low to 
greet him. All the flowers, except the butter- 
cup and the tulip, give him loving welcome. 


XI 


xii ILLUSTRATIONS 

They Fixed their Bright Eyes on the Child 

The Child, sitting among the dry leaves of the 
former year, is saddened by the envious and 
bitter tongues of the Mouse and the Lizard. 
The wood seems lonely and he is ill at ease. 

He Gazed in the Soft, Placid Mirror . . 

The Child comes to a still water that enchants 
his eyes. He forgets all sorrow while he 
marvels on which are the real leaves and the 
real sky. 

The Strawberries Bowed to his Touch . . 

The Dragon-fly shows the Child a cave where 
he -may pass the night. The harebells ring 
a sweet evensong, and the fire-flies glow their 
welcome, while the deep-red strawberries bend 
low their heavy heads. 

The Dragon-fly Raised the Web Curtain . 

The Child is tired and woidd sleep. He lays 
himself down in the cave protected from the 
mischievous gnats by the spider' s web. He 
feels alone in the deep silence until his eyes 
meet the friendly glance of the stars. 

The Lark Soared Higher and Higher *. . 

The Child walks in the field and listens to the 
joyous song of the Lark, who soars up into 
the clear and beautiful blue sky. The 
poppies are spiteful, but the Child and the 
bird are undismayed. 


PAGE 

53 


61 


69 


81 


101 


THE CHILD AWAKES 

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THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


CHAPTER I 


THE CHILD AWAKES 



HERE was once a Child who lived in a little 


X hilt, and in the hut there was nothing but 
a little bed, and a looking-glass which hung in a 
dark corner. Now the Child cared nothing at 
all about the looking-glass, but as soon as the 
first sunbeam glided softly through the case- 
ment and kissed his sweet eyelids, and the finch 
and the linnet waked him merrily with their 
morning songs, he arose, and went out into the 
green meadow. And he begged flour of the 
primrose, and sugar of the violet, and butter of 
the buttercup ; he shook dew-drops from the cow- 
slip into the cup of a harebell ; spread out a large 
lime-leaf, set his little breakfast upon it, and 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


feasted daintily. Sometimes lie invited a lium- 
ming-bee, oftener a gay butterfly, to partake of 
liis feast; but his favorite guest was the blue 
dragon-fly. The bee murmured a good deal, in 
a solemn tone, about his riches; but the Child 
thought that if he were a bee, heaps of treasure 
would not make him gay and happy ; and that it 
must be much more delightful and glorious to 
float about in the free and fresh breezes of 
spring, and to hum joyously in the web of the 
sunbeams, than, with heavy feet and heavy heart, 
to stow the silver wax and the golden honey into 
cells. 

To this the butterfly assented ; and he told how, 
once on a time, he too had been greedy and 
sordid ; how he had thought of nothing but eat- 
ing, and had never once turned his eyes upwards 
to the blue heavens. At length, however, a com- 
plete change had come over him ; and instead of 
crawling spiritless about the dirty earth, half 
dreaming, he all at once awaked as out of a deep 
sleep. And now he could rise into the air; and 
it was his greatest joy sometimes to play with 
the light, and to reflect the heavens in the bright 

i6 


Copyright y /QO4, by Henry Aitemus. 



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THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


eyes of his wings; sometimes to listen to the 
soft language of the flowers, and catch their 
secrets. Such talk delighted the Child, and his 
breakfast was the sweeter to him, and the sun- 
shine on leaf and flower seemed to him more 
bright and cheering. 

But when the bee had flown off to beg from 
flower to flower, and the butterfly had fluttered 
away to his playfellows, the dragon-fly still re- 
mained, poised on a blade of grass. Her slender 
and burnished body, more brightly and deeply 
blue than the deep-blue sky, glistened in the sun- 
beam; and her net-like wings laughed at the 
flowers because they could not fly, but must stand 
still and abide the wind and the rain. The 
dragon-fly sipped a little of the Child’s clear 
dew-drops and blue violet honey, and then whis- 
pered her winged words. And the Child made 
an end of the repast, closed his dark-blue eyes, 
bent down his beautiful head, and listened to the 
sweet prattle. 

Then the dragon-fly told much of the merry 
life in the green wood; how sometimes she 
played hide-and-seek with her playfellows under 

19 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


the broad leaves of the oak and the beech trees ; 
or Imnt-the-hare along the surface of the still 
waters ; sometimes quietly watched the sun- 
beams, as they flew busily from moss to flower 
and from flower to bush, and shed life and 
warmth over all. But at night, she said, the 
moonbeams glided softly around the wood, and 
dropped dew into the mouths of all the thirsty 
plants ; and when the dawn pelted the slumberers 
with the soft roses of heaven, some of the half- 
drunken flowers looked up and smiled ; but most 
of them could not so much as raise their heads 
for a long, long time. 

Such stories did the dragon-fly tell ; and as the 
Child sat motionless, with his eyes shut, and his 
head rested on his little hand, she thought he had 
fallen asleep; so she poised her double wings 
and flew into the rustling wood. 


20 


THE CHILD WANDERS 
TO THE GURGLING BROOK 


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CHAPTER II 


THE CHILD WANDERS TO THE GURGLING BROOK 

B ut the Child was only sunk into a dream of 
delight and was wishing he were a sun- 
beam or a moonbeam ; and he would have been 
glad to hear more and more, and forever. But 
at last, as all was still, he opened his eyes and 
looked around for his dear guest; but she was 
flown far away; so he could not bear to sit there 
any longer alone, and he rose and went to the 
gurgling brook. It gushed and rolled so mer- 
rily, and tumbled so wildly along as it hurried 
to throw itself head-over-heels into the river, 
just as if the great, massy rock out of which it 
sprang were close behind it, and could only be 
escaped by a break-neck leap. 

Then the Child began to talk to the little 
waves, and asked them whence they came. They 
would not stay to give him an answer, but danced 

23 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


away, one over another; till at last, that the 
sweet Child might not be grieved, a drop of 
water stopped behind a piece of rock. From 
her the Child heard strange histories, bnt he 
conld not understand them all, for she told him 
about her former life, and about the depths of 
the mountain. 

“A long while ago,” said the drop of water, 
“I lived with my countless sisters in the great 
ocean, in peace and unity. AVe had all sorts of 
pastimes; sometimes we mounted up high into 
the air, and peeped at the stars; then we sank 
plump down deep below, and looked how the 
coral-builders work till they are tired, that they 
may reach the light of day at last. But I was 
conceited, and thought myself much better than 
my sisters. And so one day, when the sun rose 
out of the sea, I clung fast to one of his hot 
beams, and thought that now I should reach the 
stars, and become one of them. But I had not 
ascended far, when the sunbeam shook me off, 
and, in spite of all T could say or do, let me fall 
into a dark cloud. And soon a flash of fire 
darted through the cloud, and now I thought I 
24 





9 . 




THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


must surely die ; but the whole cloud laid itself 
down softly upon the top of a mountain, and so I 
escaped with my fright and a black eye. Now 
I thought I should remain hidden, when, all on a 
sudden, I slipped over a round pebble, fell from 
one stone to another, down into the depths of the 
mountain, till at last it was pitch dark, and I 
could neither see nor hear anything. Then I 
found, indeed, that ‘pride goeth before a fall,’ 
resigned myself to my fate, and, as I had already 
laid aside all my unhappy pride in the cloud, 
my portion was now the salt of humility; and 
after undergoing many purifications from the 
hidden virtues of metals and minerals, I was at 
length permitted to come up once more into the 
free, cheerful air; and now will I run back to 
my sisters, and there wait patiently till I am 
called to something better. ’ ’ 

But hardly had she done when the root of a 
forget-me-not caught the drop of water by her 
hair and sucked her in, that she might become a 
floweret, and twinkle brightly as a blue star on 
the green firmament of earth. 


27 


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THE CHILD SLEEPS 
IN THE MOONLIGHT 




CHAPTER HI 


THE CHILD SLEEPS IN THE MOONLIGHT 

HE Child did not very well know what to 



X think of all this; he went thoughtfully 
home and laid himself on his little bed ; and all 
night long he was wandering about on the ocean, 
and among the stars, and over the dark moun- 
tain. But the moon loved to look on the slum- 
bering Child as he lay with his little head softly 
pillowed on his right arm. She lingered a long 
time before his little window, and went slowly 
away to lighten the dark chamber of some sick 
person. 

As the moon’s soft light lay on the Child’s eye- 
lids, he fancied he sat in a golden boat, on a 
great, great water ; countless stars swam glitter- 
ing on the dark mirror. He stretched out his 
hand to catch the nearest star, but it had van- 
ished, and the water sprayed up against him. 


31 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


Then he saw clearly that these were not the real 
stars: he looked up to heaven, and wished he 
could fly thither. 

But in the meantime the moon had wandered 
on her way; and now the Child was led in his 
dream into the clouds, and he thought he was 
sitting on a white sheep, and he saw many lambs 
grazing around him. He tried to catch a little 
lamb to play with, but it was all mist and vapor ; 
and the Child was sorrowful, and wished him- 
self down again in his own meadow, where his 
own lamb was s]mrting gaily about. 

Meanwhile the moon was gone to sleep behind 
the mountains, and all around was dark. Then 
the Child dreamt that he fell down into the 
dark, gloomy caverns of the mountain, and at 
that he was so frightened, that he suddenly 
awoke, just as morning opened her clear eye 
over the nearest hill. 


32 





THE CHILD WALKS 
IN THE FLOWER-GARDEN 




CHAPTER IV 


THE CHILD WALKS IN THE FLOWER-GARDEN 



‘HE Child started up, and, to recover him- 


X self from his fright, went into the little 
flower-garden behind his cottage, where the beds 
were surrounded by ancient palm-trees, and 
where he knew that all the flowers would nod 
kindly at him. But, behold, the tulip turned up 
her nose, and the ranunculus held her head as 
stiffly as possible, that she might not bow good- 
morrow to him. The rose, with her fair round 
cheeks, smiled and greeted the Child lovingly; so 
he went up to her and kissed her fragrant mouth. 
And then the rose tenderly complained that he 
so seldom came into the garden, and that she 
gave out her bloom and her fragrance the live- 
long day in vain ; for the other flowers could not 
see her, because they were too low, or did not 
care to look at her because they themselves were 


-THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


so rich in bloom and fragrance. But she was 
most delighted when she glowed in the blooming 
head of a child, and could pour out all her 
heart’s secrets to him in sweet odors. Among 
other things, the rose whispered in his ear that 
she was the Fulness of Beauty. 

And in truth the Child, while looking at her 
beauty, seemed to have quite forgotten to go on; 
till the blue larkspur called to him, and asked 
whether he cared nothing more about his faith-' 
ful friend ; she said that she was unchanged, and 
that even in death she should look upon him with 
eyes of unfading blue. 

The Child thanked her for her true-hearted- 
ness, and passed on to the hyacinth, who stood 
near the puffy, full-cheeked, gaudy tulips. 
Even from a distance the hyacinth sent forth 
kisses to him, for she knew not how to express 
her love. Although she was not remarkable for 
her beauty, yet the Child felt himself wondrously 
attracted by her, for he thought no flower loved 
him so well. But the hyacinth poured out her 
full heart and wept bitterly, because she stood so 
lonely ; the tulips, indeed, were her countrymen, 
38 



Copyright, iq04, by Henry Altemus* 


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THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


but they were so cold and unfeeling that she was 
ashamed of them. The Child encouraged her, 
and told her he did not think things were so bad 
as she fancied. The tulips spoke their love in 
bright looks, while she uttered hers in fragrant 
words; that these, indeed, were lovelier and 
more intelligible, but that the others were not to 
be despised. 

Then the hyacinth was comforted, and said she 
would be content; and the Child went on to the 
powdered auricula, who, in her bashfulness, 
looked kindly up to him, and would gladly have 
given him more than kind looks, had she had 
more to give. But the Child was satisfied with 
her modest greeting; he felt that he was poor 
too, and he saw the deep, thoughtful colors that 
lay beneath her golden dust. But the humble 
flower, of her own accord, sent him to her neigh- 
bor, the lily, whom she willingly acknowledged 
as her queen. And when the Child came to the 
lily, the slender flower waved to and fro, and 
bowed her pale head with gentle pride and 
stately modesty, and sent forth a fragrant greet- 
ing to him. The Child knew not what had come 

41 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


to him : it reached his inmost heart, so that his 
eyes filled with soft tears. Then he marked how 
the lily gazed Avitli a clear and steadfast eye 
upon the sun, and how the sun looked down again 
into her pure chalice, and how, amid this inter- 
change of looks, the three golden threads united 
in the center. And the Child heard how one 
scarlet lady-hird at the hottom of the cup said to 
another, “Knowest thou not that we dwell in the 
flower of lieavenf” and the other replied, “Yes, 
and now will the mystery he fulfilled.” 

And as the Child saw and heard all this, the 
dim image of his unknown parents, as it were 
veiled in a holy light, floated before his eyes; he 
strove to grasp it, hut the light was gone, and 
the Child slipped, and would have fallen, had not 
the branch of a currant hush caught and held 
him; he took some of the bright l)erries* for his 
morning’s meal, and went hack to his hut and 
stripped the little branches. 


* The red currant is called in (Terinany, Johannisbeere, Pt. 
John’s berry. 


42 


THE CHILD GOES 
INTO THE GREEN WOOD 


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CHAPTER V 


THE CHILD GOES INTO THE GREEN WOOD 

I N the hut he stayed not long, all was so 
gloomy, close, and silent within; and 
abroad everything seemed to smile, and to exult 
in the clear and unbounded space. Therefore 
the Child went out into the green wood, of which 
the dragon-fly had told him such pleasant 
stories. But he found everything far more 
beautiful and lovely even than she had described 
it; for all about, wherever he went, the tender 
moss pressed his little feet, and the delicate grass 
embraced his knees, and the flowers kissed his 
hands, and even the branches stroked his cheeks 
with a kind and refreshing touch, and the high 
trees threw their fragrant shade around him. 

There was no end to his delight. The little 
birds warbled and sang, and fluttered and 
hopped about, and the delicate wood-flowers 
45 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


gave out their beauty and their odors ; and every 
sweet sound took a sweet odor by the hand, and 
thus walked through the open door of the Child’s 
heart, and held a joyous nuptial dance therein. 
But the nightingale and the lily-of-the-valley led 
the dance; for the nightingale sang of nought 
hut love, and the lily breathed of nought but 
innocence, and he was the bridegroom and she 
was the bride. And the nightingale was never 
weary of repeating the same thing a hundred 
times over, for the spring of love which gushed 
from his heart was ever new; and the lily bowed 
her head bashfully, that no one might see her' 
glowing heart. And yet the one lived so solely 
and entirely in the other, that no one could see 
whether the notes of the nightingale were float- 
ing lilies, or the lilies visible notes, falling like 
dew-drops from the nightingale’s throat. 

The Child’s heart was full of joy even to the 
brim. He sat himself down, and he almost 
thought he should like to take root there, and 
live forever among the sweet plants and flowers, 
and so become a true sharer in all their gentle 
pleasures. For he felt a deep delight in the still, 
46 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


secluded, twilight existence of the mosses and 
small herbs, which felt not the storm, nor the 
frost, nor the scorching sunbeam; but dwelt 
quietly among their many friends and neighbors, 
feasting in peace and good fellowship on the dew 
and cool shadows which the mighty trees shed 
upon them. To them it was a high festival when 
a sunbeam chanced to visit their lowly home; 
whilst the tops of the lofty trees could find joy 
and beauty only in the purple rays of morning 
or evening. 


47 





; 



THE CHILD MEETS 
THE SULLEN MOUSE AND 
THE SPITEFUL LIZARD 



CHAPTER VI 


/ 


THE CHILD MEETS THE SULLEN MOUSE AND THE 
SPITEFUL LIZARD 

ND as the Child sat there, a little mouse 



l \ rustled from among the dry leaves of the 
former year, and a lizard half glided from a 
crevice in the rock, and both of them fixed their 
bright eyes upon the little stranger; and when 
they saw that he designed them no evil, they took 
courage and came nearer to him. 

“I should like to live with you,” said the 
Child to the two little creatures, in a soft, sub- 
dued voice, that he might not frighten them. 
“Your chambers are so snug, so warm, and yet 
so shaded, and the flowers grow in at your win- 
dows, and the birds sing you their morning song, 
and call you to table and to bed with their clear 
warblings.” 

“Yes,” said the mouse, “it would be all very 
well if all the plants bore nuts and mast, instead 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


of those silly flowers; and if I were not obliged 
to grab under ground in the spring, and gnaw 
the bitter roots, whilst they are dressing them- 
selves in their fine flowers, and flaunting it to the 
world, as if they had endless stores of honey in 
their cellars.” 

“Hold your tongue,” interrupted the lizard, 
pertly; “do you think, ])ecause you are grey, 
that other people must throw away their hand- 
some clothes, or let them lie in the dark ward- 
robe under ground, and wear nothing but grey 
too? I am not so envious. The flowers may 
dress themselves as they like for me ; they pay 
for it out of their own pockets, and they feed 
])ees and beetles from their cups ; but what I want 
to know is, of what use are birds in the world? 
Such a fluttering and chattering, truly, from 
morning early to evening late, that one is wor- 
ried and stunned to death, and there is never a 
day’s peace for them. And they do nothing; 
only snap up the flies and the spiders out of the 
mouths of such as I. For my part, I should be 
perfectly satisfied, provided all the birds in the 
world were flies and beetles.” 


5 ^ 



Copyright, iq04, by Henry Altemus* 


53 




THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


The Child changed color, and his heart was 
sick and saddened when he heard their evil 
tongues. He could not imagine how anybody 
could speak ill of the beautiful flowers, or scotf at 
his beloved birds. He was waked out of a sweet 
dream, and the wood seemed to him lonely and 
desert, and he was ill at ease. He started up 
hastily, so that the mouse and the lizard shrank 
back alarmed, and did not look around them till 
they thought themselves safe out of the reach of 
the stranger with the large, severe eyes. 


55 





THE CHILD GOES FURTHER 
INTO THE DEEP WOOD 



CHAPTER VTI 


THE CHILD GOES FARTHER INTO THE DEEP WOOD 

UT the Child went away from the place; 



1 J and as he hung down his head thought- 
fully, he did not oliscrve that he took the wrong 
path, nor see how the flowers on either side 
bowed their heads to welcome him, nor hear how 
the old birds from the boughs, and the young 
from the nests, cried aloud to him, “God bless 
thee, our dear little prince!” And he went on, 
and on, farther and farther into the deep wood ; 
and he thought over the foolish and heartless 
talk of the two selfish chatterers, and could not 
understand it. He would fain have forgotten it, 
but he could not. And the more he pondered, 
the more it seemed to him as if a malicious spider 
had spun her web around him, and as if his eyes 
were weary with trying to look through it. 

And suddenly he came to a still water, above 


59 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


which young beeches lovingly entwined their 
arms. He looked in the water, and his eyes were 
riveted to it as if by enchantment. He could not 
move, but stood and gazed in the soft, placid 
mirror, from the bosom of which the tender 
green foliage, with the deep-blue heavens be- 
tween, gleamed so wondrously upon him. Ilis 
sorrow was all forgotten, and even the echo of 
the discord in his little heart was hushed. That 
heart was once more in his eyes; and fain would 
he have drunk in the soft beauty of the colors 
that lay beneath him, or have plunged into the 
lovely deep. 

Then the breeze began to sigh among the tree- 
tops. The Child raised his eyes and saw over- 
head tlie quivering green, and the deep-blue 
behind it, and he knew not whether he were 
awake or dreaming; which were the real leaves 
and the real heaven,— those in the heights above, 
or in the depths beneath. Long did the Child 
waver, and his thoughts floated in a delicious 
dreaminess from one to the other, till the 
dragon-fly flew to him in affectionate haste, and 
with rustling wings greeted her kind host. The 
6q 



Copyright , J()04, by Henry Altemus* 


6i 







THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


Child returned her greeting, and was glad to 
meet an acquaintance with whom he could share 
the rich feast of his joy. But first he asked the 
dragon-fly if she could decide for him between 
the Upper and the Nether — the height and the 
depth. The dragon-fly flew above, and beneath, 
and around ; hut the water spake ‘ The foliage 
and the sky above are not the true ones: the 
leaves wither and fall ; the sky is often overcast, 
and sometimes quite dark.” Then the leaves 
and the sky said, “The water only apes us; it 
must change its pictures at our pleasure, and 
can retain none.” Then the dragon-fly re- 
marked that the height and the depth existed 
only in the eyes of the Child, and that the leaves 
and the sky were true and real only in his 
thoughts; because in the mind alone the picture 
was permanent and enduring, and could be car- 
ried with him whithersoever he went. 

This she said to the Child; but she immedi- 
ately warned him to return, for the leaves were 
already beating the tattoo in the evening breeze, 
and the lights were disappearing one by one in 
every corner. Then the Child confessed to her 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


with alarm that he knew not how he should find 
the way back, and that he feared the dark night 
would overtake him if he attempted to go home 
alone ; so the dragon-fly flew on before him and 
showed him a cave in the rock where he might 
pass the night. And the Child was well content ; 
for he had often wished to try if he could sleep 
out of his accustomed bed. 


64 


THE CHILD IS GREETED 
BY THE RINGING OF THE 
BLUE BELLS 










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CHAPTER VIII 


THE CHILD IS GREETED BY THE RINGING OF THE 
BLUE BELLS 



UT the dragon-fly was fleet, and gratitude 


I } strengthened her wings to pay her host 
tlie honor she owed him. And truly, in the dim 
twilight good counsel and guidance were scarce. 
She flitted hither and thither without knowing 
rightly what was to be done; when, by the last 
A’^anishing sunbeam, she saw hanging on the edge 
of the cave some strawberries who had drunk so 
deep of the evening red that their heads were 
quite heavy. Then she flew uji to a harebell who 
stood near, and whispered in her ear that the 
lord and king of all the flowers was in the wood, 
and ought to be received and welcomed as be- 
seemed his dignity. Aglaia did not need that 
this should be repeated. She began to ring her 
sweet bells with all her might; and when her 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


neighbor heard the sound, she rang hers also; 
and soon all the harebells, great and small, were 
in motion, and rang as if it had been for the nup- 
tials of their mother earth herself with the prince 
of the sun. The tone of the blue bells was deep 
and rich, and that of the white, high and clear, 
and all blended together in a delicious harmony. 

But the birds were fast asleep in their high 
nests, and the ears of the other animals were not 
delicate enough, or were too much overgrown 
with hair, to hear them. The fireflies alone 
heard the joyous peal, for the}^ were akin to the 
flowers, through their common ancestor, light. 
They inquired of their nearest relation, the lilj^- 
of-the-valley, and from her they heard that a 
large flower had just passed along the foot-path 
more blooming than the loveliest rose, and with 
two stars more brilliant than those of the bright- 
est firefly, and that it must needs be their king. 
Then all the fireflies flew up and down the foot- 
path, and sought everywhere till at length they 
came, as the dragon-fly had hoped they would, 
to the cave. 

And now, as they looked at the Child, and 
68 








THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


every one of them saw itself reflected in his clear 
eyes, they rejoiced exceedingly, and called all 
their fellows together, and alighted on the bushes 
all around ; and soon it was so light in the cave 
that herb and grass began to grow as if it had 
been broad day. Now, indeed, was the joy and 
triumph of the dragon-fly complete. The Child 
was delighted with the merry and silvery tones 
of the bells, and with the many little bright-eyed 
companions around him, and with the deep-red 
strawberries which bowed down their heads to 
his touch. 


71 



THE CHILD GOSSIPS 
WITH THE FIREFLIES 




CHAPTER IX 


THE CHILD GOSSIPS WITH THE FIREFLIES 

ND when he had eaten his fill, he sat down 



on the soft moss, crossed one little leg 
over the other and began to gossip with the fire- 
flies. And as he so often thought on his un- 
known parents, he asked them who were their 
parents. Then the one nearest to him gave him 
answer; and he told how that they were for- 
merly flowers, but none of those who thrust their 
rooty hands greedily into the ground and draw 
nourishment from the dingy earth, only to make 
themselves fat and large withal; but that the 
light was dearer to them than anything, even at 
night; and while Jhe other flowers slept, they 
gazed unwearied on the light, and drank it in 
with eager adoration,— sun, and moon, and star 
light. And the light had so thoroughly purified 
them, that they had not sucked in poisonous 


75 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


juices like the yellow flowers of the earth, but 
sweet odors for sick and fainting hearts, and oil 
of potent, ethereal virtue for the w^eak and the 
wounded; and at length, when their autumn 
came, they did not, like the others, wither and 
sink down, leaf and flower, to be swallowed up 
by the darksome earth, but shook off their 
earthly garment, and mounted aloft into the 
clear air. But there it was so wondrously 
bright that sight failed them; and when they 
came to themselves again, they were fireflies, 
each sitting on a withered flower-stalk. 

And now the Child liked the bright-eyed flies 
better than ever; and he talked a little longer 
with them, and inquired why they showed them- 
selves so much more in spring. They did it, 
they said, in the hope that their gold-green radi- 
ance might allure their cousins, the flowers, to 
the pure love of light. 


76 


THE CHILD IS WAKEFUL , 
WHILE THE FOREST SLEEPS 



> 



' I • 







& 


CHAPTER X 


THE CHILD IS WAKEFUL WHII.E ALL THE FOREST 
SLEEPS 



URING this conversation, the dragon-fly 


I J had been preparing a bed for her host. 
The moss upon which the Child sat had grown a 
foot high behind his back, out of pure joy; but 
the dragon-fly and her sisters had so revelled 
upon it that it was now laid at its length along 
the cave. The dragon-fly had awakened every 
spider in the neighborhood out of her sleep, and 
when they saw the brilliant light, they had set to 
work spinning so industriously that their web 
hung down like a curtain before the mouth of the 
cave. But as the Child saw the ant peeping up 
at him, he entreated the fireflies not to deprive 
themselves any longer of their merry games in 
the wood on his account. And the dragon-fly 
and her sisters raised the curtain till the Child 


79 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


had lain him down to rest, and then let it fall 
again, that the mischievous gnats might not get 
in to disturb his slumbers. 

The Child laid himself down to sleep, for he 
was very tired; but he could not sleep, for his 
couch of moss was quite another thing than his 
little bed, and the cave was all strange to him. 
He turned himself on one side and then on the 
other, and as nothing would do, he raised him- 
self and sat upright, to wait till sleep might 
choose to come. But sleep would not come at 
all ; and the only wakeful eyes in the whole wood 
were the Child’s. For the harebells had rung 
themselves weary, and the fireflies had flown 
about till they were tired, and even the dragon- 
fly, who would fain have kept watch in front of 
the cave, had dropped sound asleep. 

The wood grew stiller and stiller; here and 
there fell a dry leaf which had been driven from 
its old dwelling-place by a fresh one; here and 
there a young bird gave a soft chirp when its 
mother squeezed it in the nest; and from time to 
time a gnat hummed for a minute or two in the 

curtain, till a spider crept on tiptoe along its 
8o 







THE STORY WITHOUT. AN END 


web, and gave him such a gripe in the windpipe 
as soon spoiled his trumpeting. 

And the deeper the silence became, the more 
intently did the Child listen, and at last the 
slightest sound thrilled him from head to foot. 
At length, all was still as death in the wood; and 
tlie world seemed as if it never would wake 
again. The ( Uiild bent forward to see whether 
it were as dark abroad as in the cave, but he saw 
nothing save the pitch-dark night, who had 
wrapped everything in her thick veil. A"et as 
he looked upwards his eyes met the friendly 
glance of two or three stars, and this was a most 
joyful surprise to him, for he felt himself no 
longer so entirely alone. The stars were indeed 
far, far away, but yet he knew them, and they 
knew him ; for they looked into his eyes. 

The Child’s whole soul was fixed in his gaze; 
and it seemed to him as if he must needs fly out 
of the darksome cave thither, where the stars 
were beaming; and he felt how poor and lowly 
he was, when he thought of their brilliancy; and 
how cramped and fettered, when he thought of 
their free, unbounded course along the heavens. 

«3 



THE CHILD LISTENS 
TO THE WILL-O’-THE-WISP 




CHAPTER XI 


THE CHILD LISTENS TO THE WILL-0 ^-THE- WISP 



UT the stars went on their course, and left 


JJ their glittering jiictiire only a little while 
before the Child’s eyes. Even this faded, and 
then vanished quite away. And he was begin- 
ning to feel tired, and to wish to lay himself 
down again, when a flickering Will-o’-the-wisp 
appeared from behind a bush,— so that the Child 
thought, at first, one of the stars had wandered 
out of its way and had come to visit him, and to 
take him with it. And the child breathed quick 
with joy and surprise, and then the Will-o’-the- 
wisp came nearer, and set himself down on a 
damp, mossy stone in front of the cave, and an- 
other fluttered quickly after him,' and sat down 
over against him, and sighed, deeply, “Thank 
God, then, that I can rest at last ! ’ ’ 

“Yes,” said the other, “for that you may 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


thank the innocent Child who sleeps there 
within; it was his pure breath that freed us.” 
“Are you then,” said the Child, hesitatingly, 
‘ ‘ not of yon stars which wander so brightly there 
above?” “Oh, if we were stars,” replied the 
first, “we should pursue our tranquil path 
through the pure element, and should leave this 
wood and the whole darksome earth to itself.” 
“And not,” said the other, “sit brooding on the 
face of the shallow pool.” 

The Child was curious to know who these could 
be who shone so beautifully, and yet seemed so 
discontented. Then the first began to relate 
how he had been a child too, and how, as he grew 
up, it had always been his greatest delight to 
deceive people and play them tricks, to show his 
wut and cleverness. lie had always, he said, 
poured such a stream of smooth words over peo- 
ple, and encompassed himself with such a shin- 
ing mist, that men had been attracted by it to 
their own hurt. But once on a time there ap- 
peared a plain man, w’ho only spoke two or three 
simple words, and suddenly the bright mist van- 
ished, and left him naked and deformed, to the 
88 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


scorn and mockery of the whole world. But the 
man had turned away his face from hun in pity, 
while he was almost dead with shame and anger. 
And when he came to himself again, he knew not 
what had befallen him, till at length he found 
that it was his fate to hover, without rest or 
change, over the surface of the bog as a Wilho 
the-wisp. 

‘• With me it fell out quite otherwise,” said the 
first: “instead of giving light without warmth, 
as I now do, I burned without shining. AVhen I 
was only a child, people gave way to me in 
everything, so that I was intoxicated with self- 
love. If I saw any one shine, I longed to put 
out his light; and the more intensely I wished 
this, the more did my own small glimmering turn 
back upon myself, and inwardly burn fiercely 
while all without was darker than ever. But if 
any one who shone more brightly would have 
kindlj" given me of his light, then did my inward 
flame burst forth to destroy him. But the flame 
passed through the light and harmed it not; it 
shone only the more brightly, while I was with- 
ered and exhausted. And once upon a time I 
89 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


met a little smiling child, who played with a 
cross of palm branches, and wore a beamy 
coronet around his golden locks. He took me 
kindly by the hand and said, ‘ My friend, you are 
now very gloomy and sad, but if you will become 
a child again, even as I am, you will have a bright 
circlet such as I have,’ Wdien I heard that, I 
was so angry with myself and with the child, that 
I was scorched by my inward fire. Now would 
I fain fly up to the sun to fetch rays from him, 
hut the rays drove me hack with these words: 
‘Return thither whence thou earnest, thou dark 
fire of envy, for the sun lightens only in love; 
the greedy earth, indeed, sometimes turns his 
mild light into scorching fire. Fly back, then, 
for with thy like alone must thou dwell.’ I fell, 
and when 1 recovered myself, I was glimmering 
coldly above the stagnant waters.” 

"While they were talking, the Child had fallen 
asleep ; for he knew nothing of the world, nor of 
men, and he could make nothing of their stories. 
Weariness had spoken a more intelligible lan- 
guage to him— that he understood, and had 
fallen asleep. 


90 


THE CHILD WATCHES 
THE SUNRISE 


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CHAPTER XII 


THE CHILD WATCHES THE SUNRISE 

S OFTLY and soundly he slept till the rosy 
morning clouds stood upon the mountain, 
and announced the coming of their lord the sun. 
But as soon as the tidings spread over field and 
wood, the thousand-voiced echo awoke, and 
sleep was no more to be thought of. And soon 
did the royal sun himself arise; at first, his 
dazzling diadem alone appeared above the 
mountains ; at length he stood upon their summit 
in the full majesty of his beauty, in all the 
charms of eternal youth, bright and glorious, his 
kindly glance embracing every creature of earth, 
from the stately oak to the blade of grass bend- 
ing under the foot of the wayfaring man. 

Then arose from every breast, from every 
throat, the joyous song of praise; and it was as 
if the whole plain and wood were become a tern 
93 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


pie, whose roof was the heaven, whose altar the 
mountain, whose congregation all creatures, 
whose priest the sun. 

But the Child walked forth and was glad, for 
the birds sang sweetly, and it seemed to him as 
if everything sported and danced out of mere 
joy to be alive. Here flew two finches through 
the thicket, and, twittering, pursued each other ; 
there, the young buds hurst asunder, and the 
tender leaves peeped out and expanded them- 
selves in the warm sun, as if they would abide in 
his glance forever; here, a dew-drop trembled, 
sparkling and twinkling on a blade of grass, and 
knew not that beneath him stood a little moss 
who was thirsting, after him ; there, troops of 
flies flew aloft, as if they would soar far over the 
wood; and so all was life and motion, and the 
Child’s heart joyed to see it. 

He sat down on a little smooth plot of turf, 
shaded by the branches of a nut-bush, and 
thought he should now sip the cup of his delight 
drop by drop. And first he plucked down some 
brambles which threatened him with their 
prickles ; then he bent aside some branches which 
94 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


concealed the view ; then he removed the stones, 
so that he might stretch out his feet at full length 
on the soft turf ; and when he had done all this, 
he bethought himself what was yet to do ; and as 
he found nothing, he stood up to look for his 
acquaintance the dragon-fly, and to ])eg her to 
guide him once more out of the wood into the 
open fields. About midway he met her, and she 
began to excuse herself for having fallen asleep 
in the night. The Child thought not of the past, 
were it even but a minute ago, so earnestly did 
he now wish to get out from among the thick 
and close trees ; for his heart beat high, and he 
felt as if he should breathe freer in the open 
ground. The dragon-fly flew on before, and 
showed him the way as far as the outermost 
verge of the wood, whence the Child could espy 
his own little hut, and then flew away to her 
playfellows. 


95 





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CHAPTER XIIT 


THE CHILD LISTENS TO THE LARK ’s SONG 

T he Child walked forth alone upon the 
fresh, dewy cornfield. A thousand little 
suns glittered in his eyes, and a lark soared 
warbling above his head. And the lark pro- 
claimed the joys of the coming year, and 
awakened endless hopes, while she soared 
circling higher and higher, till at length her song 
was like the soft whisper of an angel holding 
converse with the spring under the blue arch of 
heaven. The Child had seen the earth-colored 
. little bird rise up before him, and it seemed to 
him as if the earth had sent her forth from her 
bosom as a messenger to carry her joy and her 
thanks up to the sun, because he had turned his 
beaming countenance again upon her in love and 
bounty. And the lark hung poised above the 
99 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


hope-giving field, and warbled her clear and joy- 
ous song. 

She sang of the loveliness of the rosy dawn, 
and the fresh brilliancy of the earliest sunbeams ; 
of the gladsome springing of the young flowers, 
and the vigorous shooting of the corn; and her 
song pleased the Child beyond measure. 

But the lark wheeled in higher and higher 
circles, and her song sounded softer and sweeter. 

And now she sang of the first delights of early 
love, of wandering together on the sunny, fresh 
hilltops, and of the sweet pictures and visions 
that arise out of the blue and misty distance. 
The Child understood not rightly what he heard, 
and fain would he have understood, for he 
thought that even in such visions must be won- 
drous delight. He gazed aloft after the 
unwearied bird, but she had disappeared in the 
morning mist. 

Then the Child leaned his head on one shoul- 
der to listen if he could no longer hear the little 
messenger of spring ; and he could just catch the 
distant and quivering notes in which she sang of 
the fervent longing after the clear element of 


100 



Copyright y igo4, by Henry Altemus* 


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THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


freedom ; after the pure, all-present light ; and of 
the blessed foretaste of this desired enfranchise- 
ment, of this blending in the sea of celestial 
happiness. 

Yet longer did he listen; for the tones of her 
song carried him there, where, as yet, his 
thoughts had never reached, and he felt himself 
happier in this short and imperfect 'flight than 
ever he had felt before. But the lark now 
dropped suddenly to the earth, for her little 
body was too heavy for the ambient ether, and 
her wings were not large nor strong enough for 
the pure element. 

Then the red " corn-poppies laughed at the 
homely-looking bird, and cried to one another 
and to the surrounding blades of corn in a shrill 
voice, “Now, indeed, you may see what comes 
of flying so high, and striving and straining after 
mere air; people only lose their time, and ])ring 
back nothing but weary wings and an empty 
stomach. That vulgar-looking, ill-dre_ssed little 
creature would fain raise herself above us all, 
and has kept up a mighty noise. And now, there 
she lies on the ground, and can hardly breathe, 
103 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


while we have stood still where we are sure of a 
good meal, and have stayed like people of sense 
where there is something substantial to be had ; 
and in the time she has been fluttering and sing- 
ing, we have grown a good deal taller and 
fatter.” 

The other little red-caps chattered and 
screamed their assent so loud, that the Child’s 
ears tingled, and he wished he could chastise 
them for their spiteful jeers; when a cyane said, 
in a soft voice, to her younger playmates, ‘ ‘ Dear 
friends, be not led astray by outward show, nor 
by discourse which regards only outward show> 
The lark is indeed weary, and the space into 
which she has soared is void; but the void is not 
what the lark sought, nor is the seeker returned 
empty home. She strove after light and free- 
dom, and light and freedom has she proclaimed. 
She left the earth and its enjoyments, but she has 
drunk of the pure air of heaven, and has seen 
that it is not the earth, but the sun, that is stead- 
fast. And if earth has called her back, it can 
keep nothing of her but what is its own. Her 
sweet voice and her soaring wings belong to the 
104 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


sun, and will enter into light and freedom long 
after the foolish prater shall have sunk and been 
buried in the dark prison of the earth. ’ ’ 

And the lark heard her wise and friendly dis- 
course, and, with renewed strength, she sprang 
once more into the clear and beautiful blue. 

Then the Child clapped his little hands for joy 
that the sweet bird had flown up again, and that 
the red-caps must hold their tongues for shame. 


105 






♦ ^ ^ r • 

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THE CHILD 
IS HAPPY AGAIN 




CHAPTER XIV 


THE CHILD IS HAPPY AGAIN 

ND the Cliild was become happy and joyful, 



and breathed freely again, and thought 
no more of returning to his hut; for he saw that 
nothing returned inwards, but rather that all 
strove outwards into the free air; the rosy apple- 
blossoms from their narrow buds, and the gur- 
gling notes from the narrow breast of the lark. 
The germs burst open the folding doors of the 
seeds, and broke through the heavy pressure of 
the earth in order to get at the light ; the grasses 
tore asunder their bands, and their slender 
blades sprang upward. Even the rocks were 
become gentle, and allowed little mosses to 
peep out from their sides, as a sign that they 
would not remain impenetrably closed forever. 
And the flowers sent out color and fragrance 
into the whole world, for they kept not their best 


109 


THE STORY WITHOUT AN END 


for themselves, but would imitate the sun and 
the stars, which poured their warmth and radi- 
ance over the spring. And many a little gnat 
and beetle burst the narrow cell in which it was 
inclosed, and crept out slowly, and, half asleep, 
unfolded and shook its tender wings, and soon 
gained strength, and flew off to untried delights. 
And as the butterflies came forth from their 
chrysalids in all their gaiety and splendor, so 
did every humbled and suppressed aspiration 
and hope free itself, and boldly launch into the 
open and flowing sea of spring. 


[the end] 


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library of congress 



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